


That's Not Very Becoming of a Gentleman

by americalovesthecockpit



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, Smut, USUK - Freeform, lulz
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-03
Updated: 2012-07-03
Packaged: 2017-11-09 01:58:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/449991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/americalovesthecockpit/pseuds/americalovesthecockpit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been nine months since England and America last saw each other, and England is absolutely desperate for a good rough shag. But America is taking his sweet time. Sexual frustration ahoy! USUK, smut towards the end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That's Not Very Becoming of a Gentleman

**Author's Note:**

> This was for Empress Vegah who wanted to see some horny/frustrated!England with considerate!America.

"We need to get lube."

America's cheery smile turned into a weak one. "Well, uh … hello to you too, haha."

England realized his mistake. It'd been nine months since they'd last seen each other, America was patiently waiting for him at the airport luggage carousel, and that's how England greeted him.

"Oh, right," said England. "I suppose I should have said 'hello' first."

America's happy grin returned. "It's okay. Hey, those are your bags, right?" He pointed to two suitcases circling on the carousel. A few more seconds and they'd be right in front of them.

"Oh. Yes. Those are them." England turned away and walked toward the exit. "Come on. Let's hurry. We need to go to the store so we can get back to your place."

America watched him walk off, confused. He glanced back and forth between England and the luggage three times before realizing England wasn't coming back for them. "Oh snap!" he exclaimed as he dove after the suitcases before they slipped back inside the tiny airport luggage door. He knocked over a couple people in the process, but he grabbed the suitcases in time.

America chased after England, lugging a suitcase in each hand. "Hey, wait for meeeee!"

When he caught up, England mumbled, "Damn airport rules."

"What's wrong?" asked America, trying to keep up with England's swift pace while carrying the luggage.

"Well, I had wanted to bring the lube myself," said England. "But of course, those sodding rules about no fluids more than three ounces!"

"Uh …" began America nervously. "Why would we need more than three ounces?"

England finally looked at him. To side-eye him with a smirk. "It's been nine months, of course. And we have a whole week together. We are certainly going to go through more than damn ounces before I'm done with you."

"Hahaha …" America laughed nervously. "England, you are so silly. That rule is just for carry-on! You could have just put it in your suitcase, duh!"

England scoffed, annoyed. "And have those damn TSA agents snoop through them? I think not. I'm still quite angry that last time they saw my butt plug."

"Yeeeeeah …" America looked away awkwardly. "At least wash it before you pack next time …"

"I was in a hurry!" snapped England. "But it doesn't matter. I learnt my lesson. No more toys or sexual accessories in luggage."

"Haha … probably for the best."

They were outside the airport now. Walking through and ducking around cars in the parking deck.

"So here's our plan …" began England.

"Ooh! Here's my car." America pointed to his Toyota Camry. With fins. "You like the fins? I added fins! I think they're super cool!"

England thought they looked ridiculous, so he ignored the question. "We'll stop by a store, a convenience market or something," he said as he hopped in the passenger seat. "Grab as much lube as we can, and head back to your place. Then we'll fuck all evening until we collapse of pure exhaustion."

America almost dropped the luggage in shock as he loaded it in the back. "Whoa!"

"Hey! Careful with that luggage back there. It may not have any dildos or butt plugs in it, but it does have other important things."

America finished putting the suitcases in the trunk. He came around and took his place in the driver's seat. "But England! What about dinner?"

England sighed. "Fine, I do suppose we need to eat at some point. We'll need the fuel. Let's just stop at some fast food place, eh? The quicker the better."

"Umm … as much as I love McDonald's and Burger King and Wendy's and Arby's and Hardee's and Taco Bell, I'll have to – OH! AND KFC – I'll have to pass this time."

The car hummed to a start. "What? Why?" asked England, annoyed.

"Because, dude! We haven't seen each other in nine months! That's a long time!"

"… exactly. I am desperate." The devious look in England's eyes said it all. "Dildos and vibrators can only last me so long. I need the real thing."

"Yeah, yeah," America said, waving him off. "Whatever. But first I'm gonna take you out to dinner! And fast food won't do for this occasion! We gotta eat somewhere nice. I mean, like, really nice. And fancy. At least Olive Garden-fancy."

The car turned onto the street. But not in the direction of America's house.

"I don't care about that shit," said England. "You don't need to wine and dine me. I'm more than willing to sleep with you after just McDonald's, so turn this car around."

"Noooo!" whined America. "I already made reservations at The Cheesecake Factory and we're GOING!"

England gave him a patronizing look, raising his eyebrows. "The Cheesecake Factory? That's your idea of 'fancy'?"

"IT'S FANCY! And really good! You're gonna love it!" America beamed at him.

But England just glared back. "The more time we spend out eating the less time we have for sex."

America laughed nervously. "Haha … boy, you sure are direct! But trust me. You'll have fun! We'll eat some good food, catch up with some good conversation—"

"—and go home to some good sex," interrupted England.

"Um …" America stared directly at the road in front of him. He felt too awkward to look anywhere else. "Riiiiight."

X

"Oh, God," said America. "Mmmm …. yeeeeeah. So good. Yes! Mmm! I WANT ALL OF YOU IN MY MOUTH!"

England glanced up and over his menu. America was across from him at the table, drooling on his menu.

"It all looks so good, England! How am I supposed to choose? !"

England looked back down. America's first comments had gotten him excited. In his pants. But now that he realized America's desperate, drooling words were about food and not England, he'd lost interest.

"Just pick one," he said curtly.

"Hmmm … the Glamburgers look good … but so does the Bang-Bang Chicken and Shrimp …. hmm, decisions, decisions … OH! They got Fish Tacos! Mmm, yeah …"

England sighed and set down his menu. "I don't know what I want either. I'm not that hungry."

"Get the Fish and Chips, haha! They totally got Fish and Chips. Then you'll feel like you're in your natural habitat!"

"I need to eat something light. Think about it, my colon needs to be fairly clear if you're going to be pounding into my rect—"

"GAHH!" exclaimed America. "E-England! That's not appropriate The Cheesecake Factory talk!"

"I can't help it!" The frustration was evident in England's voice. "It's been nine bloody months and I'm fucking horny. I've had nothing on my mind but sex, knowing I was finally going to get some tonight. And you're making me wait even longer. Is it surprising that I'm a little frustrated? !"

"Look, England. If that's all that's on your mind …"

England looked hopeful. "… YES?"

"… then you should TOTALLY have the cheesecake! It's SO good. It's like sex in your mouth!"

England sighed and looked away. Why did he even get his hopes up? Thoughts of a bathroom quickie were instantly dashed. Then again, he should have known. America, being painfully vanilla, had never had sex with him anywhere but a bed. "I wish I could have sex in your mouth …" he muttered to himself.

America didn't hear the comment. "I'm so happy you're visiting, England! Just think. A whole week to hang out and have fun!"

England only half-listened, lazily stirring his drink with his straw. "Hmm."

"I have so many ideas! I was thinking like one day we could go putt-putting, and then another day we could go spelunking, and then another we could go to Build-a-Bear and like … well, build a bear, haha! Doesn't that sound like fun?"

England sipped his drink, making America wait for his response. After taking his time, he swallowed and set it down on the table. "That sounds like complete shite."

"ENGLAND!" America exclaimed, a bit hurt. "I thought you wanted to have fun with me? ! I mean, yeah, we have that World Meeting thing tomorrow, but that's only going to last like half a day. The rest of the time is for fun FUN FUN!"

England sighed and looked away. "My idea of fun is you bending me over this table right this very second and fucking me so hard on it that I'm picking splinters out of my arse for days."

"WHAT!" America nearly choked. "But England! If we did that, we'd get in trouble! The manager would kick us out and then how will I get some Reese's Peanut Butter Chocolate Cheesecake?"

"I'm so horny that's a risk I'm willing to take."

"Well, I'm not," pouted America. "Besides. I wouldn't want to do it anywhere but the bed anyway."

"Of course you wouldn't," England said with an eyeroll.

"Anyway … back to what I was saying. I had a lot planned out for us to do. Like laser tag where we can make up silly code names like CoffeeDude and TeabaggingGuy. You're TeabaggingGuy. Also we could go antiquing, and mud boggin', and—"

"Shhh," hushed England, throwing up a finger in America's face. His voice was gruff, irritated as he said, "Hold that thought."

America frowned. "Um … okay …"

England held his phone up to his ear. He'd gotten a voicemail. As he listened to it, his scowl changed to a look of pure horror, then anger. He furiously switched it off. With a frustrated groan, he flopped his head on the table.

"What's wrong, England?" asked America, concerned.

England raised his head. "I just got a call from my boss. Apparently he isn't too amused on me staying a week here for a half-day's meeting."

"… what does this mean?"

"He wants me to come back tomorrow."

"Tomorrow? !" exclaimed America. "But that's when I wanted to take you to the petting zoo!"

"He already booked my flight for right after the meeting …" England rubbed his head. "Ohhh … this can't be happening … damn it …"

"Yeah! This isn't fair! We haven't seen each other in nine months! When am I ever supposed to catch up on taking you on cool fun dates? !"

"When are we ever going to catch up on FUCKING? !"

America looked very, very embarrassed. Wide-eyed and frozen still.

"The hell's wrong with you?" asked England.

America glanced pointedly at the waitress who was standing beside them.

"Oh," said England, though not as surprised as he should be. "Didn't see you there."

X

After they had eaten and left a nice tip for the waitress, America and England headed back to the car. America thought a big tip was only fair, since every time she'd approached the table to check on them, she'd walked in on some part of the conversation to do with sex. It was England every time, griping about how it'd been long, how will he ever fit nine months' worth into one night, and trying to talk America into making a homemade sex tape with him to keep him company when he returned. (America said no.) ("WHAT NO ARE YOU CRAZY WHAT IF SOMEONE ELSE SEES IT? !" to be specific.)

England watched America make a turn. He saw the colossal store nearby. "Why are we going to Wal*mart?"

"Umm …" America glanced over nervously. "You wanted to get lube, right?"

"Oh — right. Thought you'd just stop by a mini-mart or something, but I suppose it doesn't matter."

America parked the car and they made their way to the door. America was looking up, at the seagulls swirling above. "Haha, silly seagulls!"

"Let's just get the KY and get out of here," said England. "As quickly as possible."

"Hahaha …" America was still laughing at the seagulls. "These seagulls are so dumb! There's not an ocean around here. Why do they love Wal*mart parking lots so much?"

"Fucking FOCUS! We're here for lube. Don't get distracted."

"Hehe!" America laughed as he swatted one of the birds away that had gotten a little close. "Right, right."

When they walked through the door, America grabbed a cart. England got excited just at the thought.

"Just how much lube were you planning on buying? !" England asked a little too loudly.

"SHHH!" America glanced around, hoping no one heard. Only the Wal*mart greeter, an old man, did. He winked at them.

"A whole cart's worth? !" England tried to conceal his grin, but it didn't quite work.

"WHAT? ! No! I have a few things I need to pick up." America pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. He read down the list, "I need to get some toothpaste, some Teddy Grahams, that yogurt that keeps your poop regular—"

"We don't have time for all that!" interrupted England. "We're just here for the lube!"

"Look, I haven't had time to go to the store! It won't take long. Just go get the lube and then meet me in the grocery section, okay?"

"America …" pleaded England. "It's been nine. Fucking. Months. I am desperate. We only have tonight and the clock is TICKING."

"Gosh, you're so impatient! It won't take long." After giving England a weird look, America turned and walked off. "Remember! Meet me in the grocery section!" he called back. "I'll be near the poopin' yogurt!"

England marched off with a huff to the pharmacy section. Didn't America get it? How he ached for him? Every night before bed (and sometimes when he woke up too) England had pleasured himself to thoughts of America. By replaying in his mind nights they'd have together before, thinking about just how America had touched him, imagining it was America instead of his own hand. He also thought of things he'd wanted to do with America but never had.

He'd fantasized about this night and what they'd do to each other (well, actually, he'd fantasized about an entire week, but that had gotten cut short.) Every scenario he'd imagined had brought him to a very quick, hard orgasm. It'd been so long since he'd had actual sex that he got off easily, out of desperation. But masturbation was only a quick fix. It may bring temporary relief but in the long run only made him hornier.

He needed a good fuck.

England looked over the various kinds of lubricants on the shelf. Some of them had catchy names or weird flavors and he wondered which was just regular fucking lube. Despite only being here for one night, England grabbed enough to last the whole week he was originally supposed to be staying, and walked to the grocery section. He didn't even try to conceal the lube. He didn't care if others saw. This is Wal*Mart, he said to himself. Who gives a fuck?

England didn't find America by the Activia probiotics yogurt. Instead he found him hunched over the lobster tank. England approached America from behind.

"Hey," he said. "I found the lube. Let's go."

America didn't move away from the tank. "Can you believe this, England?"

"That Wal*Mart has a lobster tank? Yes, it is rather surprising."

"No, not that. I mean, look at them." America pressed his face against the glass, smooshing it. "They look so sad. They know they're gonna die."

England rolled his eyes. "No, they don't."

America turned around, a big smile suddenly on his face. "Hey! I just got a great idea! What if I bought one and took it home with me? You know, like save its life? I could name him Mr. Pinchers and he could live in my bathtub and lead a full, happy life until he dies of natural causes and then, and only then, I will eat him."

England glared back. His only reply was a blunt, "No."

"Aw, come on! I think it's a cool idea! I'll save its life and be a hero! YEAH!"

"Hmm, but think about it like this. By purchasing one of the lobsters, you are funding them. The one you will buy will just be replaced by another. The best way to save the lobsters would actually be to refuse to buy them. Because if there was no demand, they would simply stop selling them. Thus eventually none would be killed. It's simple maths, and more important maths, is that every fucking second we stand here and talk about fucking shitting yogurt and fucking lobsters is one fucking second less to FUCKING FUCK EACH OTHER."

America looked sadly over to the tank. "… oh."

X

The second they walked through the door of America's house, England threw himself on America.

He slammed America against the wall of the foyer, crushing their lips together. England's hands wandered, grabbing eagerly and hungrily at any piece of flesh he could get his fingers on. It was desperate pawing, trying to encourage America to do the same. He wanted to feel America's hands roaming on him. He wanted them to slip under his shirt and pinch his nipples. He wanted them to slide down and grope his ass. No … spank his ass. Yes, he wanted this rough. Rough, fast, and hard. That's how he liked it. He wanted America to switch this around and shove him against the wall. Hold him there helplessly as he had his way with him.

England was half-hard at the thought. He rutted his hips into America's, letting him feel his growing arousal. Letting him know he was more than ready for this.

He expected, or at least hoped, America would buck his hips too. England hoped to feel an erection pressing firmly against him, ready for more. But instead he felt America freeze up. Even worse was when he felt America actually push him off.

England was forced to take a step back. He cut America a glare and asked, "What the hell is with you tonight?"

"Sorry …" said America, looking behind England. "We have a problem …"

"What?" England turned and looked. Behind them was America's whale, looking scared out of its mind.

"OOOOOOOO!" it cried.

America broke completely away from England, rushing over to his pet whale. "Whaley, what's wrong?" he asked, very concerned. "Why are you crying?"

The whale nuzzled against America for comfort, making soft whimpering noises.

"Tsk!" said America, as if he understood what the whale said. "I told you not to watch that show! It always ends up scaring you!"

"Oooooo …" the whale whimpered.

America turned to England, shrugging sheepishly. "Whaley watched Animal Planet's Whale Wars again."

"I see," England said. I don't fucking care let's just get to the bed and fuck already, England thought.

"Sorry, but I gotta deal with this." America saw England's expression change and he quickly explained, "Every time Whaley watches Whale Wars and gets scared, I gotta rub his tummy and sing to him until he falls asleep."

England deadpanned. "You're … you're serious? You're fucking serious right now? I'm so horny I'm about to cum in my damn trousers, and you're going to leave me to sing to a whale!"

"He needs me!" said America.

"I need you! Inside me! Shagging me proper!"

"It won't take long. Just like twenty or thirty minutes. Go, uh … go unpack or watch TV or something until I'm done, okay?"

With that, America and the whale left the room, leaving England alone. And horny. And completely sexually frustrated.

"Fucking whale!" swore England, punching America's couch. "How about I give Japan a call and tell him where you live, hmm? ! Tell him to bring the harpoon and a fork! Damn cockblock."

England kept punching the couch until he got frustrated with that too, so he flopped down on it and sighed. "Nine bloody months," he said to himself. "It's been nine months since I last had sex. That's long enough to make a damn baby! A whole baby could have grown and been born since I last got fucking laid. That is absolutely ridiculous. Man wasn't meant to go so long without another's touch! And I once again have to wait … for what? A whale. A bloody whale. How could I be put out by a damn pet? What kind of fool even wastes their time talking to such a creature? What an idiot."

Just then, a small, green, furry figure materialized in the air right beside England. "HI THERE!" he beamed excitedly. "What a glorious day! I've come to cheer you up, Eng—"

"Not now, Flying Mint Bunny."

"But you look so upset!" said the creature brightly. "Let's talk about our feelings!"

"My feelings? Well … I'M BLOODY HORNY AND SO ANGRY I COULD PUNCH DAVID CAMERON IN THE BOLLOCKS AND SO SEXUALLY FRUSTRATED I'M ABOUT TO HUMP THIS DAMN COUCH JUST BECAUSE IT SMELLS LIKE AMERICA."

Flying Mint Bunny's smile disappeared as his eyes bugged out in shock. "Okaaaaaay then …" he said, starting to vanish. "Never miiiiind … cheerio!"

The minty fairy disappeared.

England sighed.

Fueled by his frustration, he went to find America. He found him out on the deck by his pool, doing exactly what he said he'd be doing. He sat at the edge of the pool, rubbing his whale's belly, singing softly.

England hung around the corner, eavesdropping.

"You don't have to come and confess …" sung America, whispering the words softly to the whale. "We lookin' for you, we goin' find you, we goin' find you~"

England watched with a burning jealously. America's strokes were so tender, so gentle. That should be him America's hand paid such careful, delicate attention to. That should be him getting stroked. But not that way. A non-platonic way. Dirtier, rougher, lower …

"So you can run and tell that, run and tell that, run and tell that …" America continued singing, his voice warm and sweet. The whale nuzzled gently against him, making a soft cooing noise. America smiled down at his pet as he kept singing, "Homeboy, h-h-hooome-boy~"

England sucked in a big breath. His partial erection hadn't flagged a bit, and it was driving him mad being stuck in this strange limbo between soft and hard. His hand wandered, moved in front of him, dragging along his clothes until his palm was over the small bulge. He sighed as he cupped himself, trying to feel exactly how hard he was, as he watched America comfort his pet.

He felt guilty when this only made him grow harder. He felt the stiffness swell in his hand as he palmed himself. Is this all it took now? He was so horny and desperate, he could get off to America stroking his whale to sleep? This was a new low. Even his idea of humping America's couch seemed like a good one now. He could inhale America's scent, shove himself in those soft, delicate cracks, and grope those little extra cushion pillows like two perky, firm asscheeks.

England blinked hard. What the hell was wrong with him? He was fantasizing about having sex with America's couch! He'd surely gone mad with lust.

England looked back to America. His voice had become quiet. The whale had fallen asleep, a peaceful grin on his face as he slept. America still gently rubbed his tummy. England watched for a few more seconds. Finally, once certain the animal was sound asleep, America withdrew his hand. He stood up and turned back toward the house.

England quickly ducked. He raced back into the house before America could see he'd been spying. Where did he go, of all places? The couch. He flopped on it just seconds before America entered the room.

"He's asleep," America whispered, smiling.

"Great," replied England sarcastically, not lowering his tone. He didn't care if the whale woke back up. "Can we go to the bedroom now?"

America yawned and stretched his arms. "Ya know, I'm kinda tired. Maybe we could just wait until morning?"

The glare England shot at America was so intense it sent shivers down his spine.

"GAHHH DON'T LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT!" cried America. "You're scaring me!"

"You. Me. The bedroom. Now."

"OOH! I gotta pee first." America heard the harsh huff England made. "Well, sooooorry! I had four Diet Cokes at dinner! Just go wait in the bed for me, okay? Won't take but a minute."

America left for the bathroom, and England was left by himself. And that plastic Wal*mart bag. With another huff, England fished the lube from the bag and stomped his way upstairs.

But his anger softened when he walked into America's bedroom. The room had too many good memories for him to be mad. Flashes of past encounters in this room – skin, sweat, loud moans—instantly came flooding back to him. It'd been a long time since he had the pleasure of anything like that, but walking into the room made the memories in his mind fresh. He felt his cock twitch as he remembered the way America had touched him before, straddling over him, pressing him hard into the mattress, thrusting a smooth rhythm with those powerful hips.

All the arguments about cheesecake, lobsters, and whales would certainly be worth it.

England hurriedly tore off his clothing. He tossed his shirt on the floor — he didn't care at this point if it got wrinkly or dirty. It was soon joined by his shoes, pants, and boxers. All the clothing was off in a matter of seconds. He wanted to be able to start as soon as America walked through the bedroom door.

England hopped on the bed. He sighed blissfully as he leaned back on one of America's pillows. Knowing his nine month sexual frustration should be seconds away from finally being relieved, he felt he could relax for a moment. He closed his eyes, thinking of all the things he would do tonight. He tried to play it out in his mind. Different moves, different positions. Hmm, how do I want it tonight? England wondered. On my back like usually? Or on all fours? Or maybe I'll ride him for a while. Ohh, I wonder if America will suck me off tonight … oh, how I hope … he has such a splendid mouth …

A hand wandered to the nightstand, where England had left a tube of KY.

All these thoughts had gotten England excited. He was no longer at half-mast, but fully erect. Imagining America going down on him had been enough to take care of that. As soon as he pictured America's lips wrapped around him, that was it. He was hard and couldn't stand not to be touched any longer.

The cap of the bottle of lube popped open. England hurriedly poured it in his palm before quickly recapping it and letting it fall on the bed. He didn't care where. All he cared about was tending to his very eager, very starved erection.

"Ahh …" England hissed as he reached down. The lube was cool but not for long. Just a few strokes and it warmed with the friction. England wasted no time. His strokes weren't slow and teasing, prepping him for what was about to come when America entered the room. No, he started the way he normally masturbated to thoughts of America – hard, fast, frenzied strokes. He liked it that way. He liked it a bit rougher.

"Fuck yes …" he whimpered to the pillow. It smelled even more like America than the couch. England turned his face into the side of it, inhaling a big whiff. "Nnnm … yeah."

His hand didn't let up. It continued those quick, harsh strokes. Too quick. He felt himself approaching his climax in less than a minute. That's how it normally went when he had a wank lately. Being so sexually starved, he didn't last long. Sometimes he edged. Sometimes he pulled away, caught his breath, let himself relax, then resumed touching himself. Other times he didn't have the willpower, and his fun was over in just a minute or two.

It was difficult and took every ounce of willpower he had, but tonight England managed to pull his hand away before he came. He pressed his face back into the pillow and groaned loudly. The frustration was unbearable. Two or three more strokes and his hand would be covered in his cum. It was so tempting, but he wanted to wait. He wanted America to do this.

When he thought of America doing this to him, he had to press his face even deeper into the pillow. To muffle his frustrated groan. He imagined America's fingers wrapped around his cock, now so aroused and sensitive. He imagined America picking up right when England left off. He'd stroke just the way England liked it. Forcefully, quickly, squeezing tightly. Making his foreskin roll up and down his shaft with each frantic pump. Until England cried out, cumming all over America's fingers.

"Shit," swore England, squirming on his back.

These thoughts were pushing him too close to the edge. Even if he'd pulled his hand away, his mind and the fantasies it created might be enough to finish him off even without physical stimulation.

England lay there for a few moments. Letting himself calm down. Letting the lube cool on his erection, hoping it would help stave off any accidental orgasms. When he caught his breath, his hand found the lube bottle again.

More of the liquid poured into his hand. But this time, he only brushed against his cock. He had to be careful — it was still so sensitive. Like a loaded gun, he didn't want it to accidentally go off. England allowed himself only the sliding sensation of his hand skimming over it as his fingers went lower. They glided over and cupped his balls. Freshly shaven just for this occasion. He groped himself there, rubbing each of them in his hand, feeling the fresh smoothness of them. Then his hand went even lower.

"Mmm …"

England slipped the first lube-slicked finger inside himself. The quicker he prepared himself, the quicker he and America could begin the actual sex, he figured. He worked the finger into himself, slicking up inside.

But England was used to being stretched. The butt plugs and dildos in his closet weren't there just to collect dust. One finger would never be enough. It was quickly joined by a second, also wet and slippery from the KY jelly.

"Damn it, America …" he panted as he fingered himself. "Why aren't you here to do this for me?"

He was literally lying in America's bed, hot and ready. Legs spread and welcoming. And America was nowhere to be found.

England's back arched off the bed. He'd brushed against his prostate. Years of masturbating (and nine recent months of extra practice) had made him memorize the exact spot. He thrust his fingers against it, drawing out moans. Each one slightly louder than the last. One particularly well angled jab at the spot had him fisting his other hand into the blankets, and biting down on that pillow to keep from screaming.

After that, he abruptly pulled his fingers out. As he lay there, panting, sweating, completely flushed red, he realized how close he'd come to accidental orgasm. Again. Just a few more seconds, and it would have been over. He would have come on his stomach from anal stimulation alone. America would find him collapsed, drained, flaccid, and sticky.

England furrowed his brow. Just where the hell was America? How dare he keep England waiting like this. Especially knowing how horny he already was. It'd been far too long just for America to take a piss. England might have wondered if nature had called with a different request, but America had yet to eat his pooping yogurt, so England figured that was unlikely.

"America!" he yelled.

No response.

"AMERICA!" he yelled even louder.

Still nothing.

"FUCKING ANSWER ME!"

Still fucking nothing.

England groaned in frustration as he forced himself off the bed. His steps were louder than they needed to be, making his way down the hall. He did it on purpose in case America could hear. He wanted America to hear his frustration.

"Where the hell are you? !" he called.

England paused at the top of the steps. He spied America below. Sitting on the couch. Watching TV.

"Fucking idiot …" England muttered.

"GOOD LAWD!" America said to the TV, oblivious to England watching him from above. "I sure am glad I got Whaley neutered, haha!"

"America," said England darkly.

"WHAA!" America startled. He jumped in his seat. But he smiled when he looked back and up and saw England at the top of the steps. "Oh, it's you! Jeez, you scared me. If I hadn't just gone to the bathroom I might have peed myself a little just then, haha."

"What the hell are you doing."

It wasn't a question. A demand to know why America was downstairs on the couch watching TV, when he should be upstairs knocking boots with England.

"Oh! Sorry!" said America. "I totally forgot, haha! I went to pee and after that I walked past the TV. Whaley had left it on, ya know? Anyway, I just got caught up watching this hoarder show on Animal Planet. It's about this woman who has fifty seven cats! Can you believe that? ! She didn't get them fixed so they just kept having more and more and more babies. Isn't that crazy?"

England glared down. "It's crazy that cats are having sex when I am not."

"In addition to fifty seven cats," began the narrator on the television, "she also has twenty seven dogs."

Chocolate Chip Teddy Grahams spewed out of America's mouth in shock. "Twenty seven dogs too? !" he choked. "JEEZ! That's a lot of Beggin' Strips! Dogs don't know it's not bacon. Did you know that, England? They say that in the commercial."

England's glower didn't budge. "Get your arse up in the bedroom before I put a collar and leash on you and force you to."

After he said it, England realized how much he fancied that idea. Collaring America and controlling him with a leash. Subjugating him with restraints, barking commands at him, making him beg like a dog. But as nice as that sounded, tonight England was in the mood for America to dominate him, not the other way around. So he promised himself another time.

Then he remembered he had to leave for his home country as soon as the meeting was over the next day, and he wanted to punch America's banister in frustration. There was no telling how long next time might be. Could be another nine months. Or even longer.

"Lemme just see this one part," said America, turning back to the TV.

"I SAID NOW!" barked England.

"Okay, okay! Jeez!" America grabbed the remote and set it to record. "Hehe, thank you Comcast."

England turned to leave. "I'll be in the bed. Don't keep me waiting again."

"Okay!" America replied brightly. "Let me just put my poopin' yogurt in the fridge so it doesn't spoil, and I'll be right there!"

England sauntered back to the bedroom. He wondered why the hell America didn't even acknowledge that he was completely naked. And not only was he nude, but he had a very obvious erection.

England flopped back on the bed. He was on his stomach, face in a pillow. His eyes lowered halfway. The frustration was getting to him. Had he not been so horny, he would have just given up. Turned in for the night and gone to sleep. But his erection currently smashed into the mattress was not going to allow that to happen.

England rolled over when he heard a noise in the room. He let out a quiet sigh of relief when he saw that it was America. Finally. America was in the bedroom. And they could finally do this.

Then his brow furrowed. America had something in his hand, trying to rig it to two small speakers on his desk.

"What's that?" asked England, annoyed.

America smiled back. "My iPod. I wanted to play some music while we did this." He looked down, appearing annoyed. "Get in there, stupid thing …" he mumbled. "Come on, fit in there … AH! Here we go, got it! This is gonna be awesome."

Suddenly, a slow, sultry tune began to flow from the speakers.

"HMM?" America beamed at England. "Whaddaya think? It's Barry White, dude. Can't get much more romantic than that, huh?"

England sat up. He did not look impressed. "I don't care about that."

America looked hurt. "What … but why?"

England tensed. Shit. He'd upset America. He didn't mean to let it slip that he didn't want a romantic song. And he certainly didn't want to tell him the truth about why: if America played a slow, romantic song, then America would match the rhythm and they would have slow, romantic sex. The way they normally did. But that's not how England wanted it. He liked it rough. Hard and fast. Maybe even a little painful. But certainly not slow and romantic. That would drive him crazy — and not in the good way.

He had to think fast as to not upset America too much. If he was offended, America might not have any kind of sex with him.

"Wh-what I meant …" stammered England. "… was that I don't like playing music during sex. It's, uh … a distraction. Um, yeah. A distraction. I only want to concentrate on you."

Nice save, thought England.

America thought on this for a minute. The look of hurt faded into one of confusion. "But it drowns out those gross sex sounds."

"I like those sounds."

England said that a little too quickly.

But it was true. Sure, it was dirty. But sex sounds turned him on. The louder the better. After all, the more noise they made, the better the sex was.

America just looked even more confused. "Well … um … if you really want to, I guess we can turn it off. I mean, I really wanted to play it, but it's whatever … though I really wanted to … um …"

England let out a frustrated sigh. "Oh, I don't even care anymore! Arguing about it is just wasting more time. Just get over here."

America smiled nervously. "Okay. I guess I should get out of these clothes, huh?"

"… YES."

America thought it was weird the way England stared at him. He thought about turning off the lights, but he knew it'd just upset England. America started with his shoes, unlacing them one at a time.

"Hurry up!" snapped England.

"Simmer down." America placed his second shoe next to the first on the floor. "You're so impatient, jeez."

"I've been waiting nine bloody months for this! And you're taking your sweet ti — oh, just leave the bloody socks on! Get your shirt and trousers off and get in this damn bed."

America left the socks. He reached for his first shirt button. "Tsk. Okay, Mr. Bossy Boots."

He popped them one by one. England watched impatiently, feeling like this was in slow motion. He felt like America was taking longer on purpose. Going one … by one … by one … at such a slow, leisurely pace.

England grunted in frustration as he leaned back against the pillows. Having an erection without release for this long was actually starting to become painful. It literally ached to be touched.

And America, who should be relieving England of this problem, was neatly folding his shirt.

"America, please. Do hurry."

"Sorry! Just wanted to make sure this shirt doesn't get all wrinkly. I wore one of my best ones for The Cheesecake Factory. Because they're fancy, ya know!"

England's eyes flashed with lust when he saw America reach for his belt. He licked his lips as it slid out of each belt loop. It was tossed aside on a nearby chair, and then America's hands went to his fly.

America glanced up sheepishly to see England hungrily leering at him. Waiting with a held breath for America to unzip. It made America nervous.

"How come you got undressed without me?" America asked to try to distract England from staring at him like that.

It didn't work. England's eyes were locked right below where America's belt had been. "To hurry this along."

America unzipped himself, looking away. "Oh. Well, next time let me help. I like doing it. I like to pretend I'm unwrapping a present or something, haha." It was a nervous laugh.

England couldn't conceal his grin when America's pants hit the floor. "My apologies," he said, never tearing his eyes away.

America folded the pants, and they joined his shirt on the back of the chair. He was left wearing nothing but boxers then. Oh, and the socks England had refused to let him remove.

"You should take off your glasses," said England. "This will be a bumpy ride."

"But … I wanna be able to see you."

"Fine. But don't be surprised when they fall off."

England hardly heard his own words as he spoke. He was too distracted by America finally climbing onto the bed. Clad in nothing but black boxer shorts and those darn socks.

England quickly sat up. He was very eager for this. His hands went straight for America's boxers. He just wanted to claw those darn things off and finally, finally get what he wanted. Grab America's cock and impale himself with it after nine very long months without.

But America caught him by the wrists. England grunted but it was no use. America laced his fingers into England's, and England felt himself being eased back onto the pillow. It was frustrating to be denied, but he allowed America to push him down. He lay back and let America climb on top of him.

America straddled himself over England. England expected, or at least hoped, for America to take him quickly. He was already plenty ready. He'd already warmed himself up. He was stretched and slick and eager to quickly get to it.

But of course, America would never start by simply shoving himself in. Even if that was what England wanted. He started like he always did. With a slow, deep kiss.

America was always such a romantic sap, England lamented. He would probably try to kiss a damn prostitute.

England lay there bored. Just letting America press their lips together. A slow, languid kiss. It didn't seem very exciting compared to wanking or fingering himself.

England felt America's tongue slip inside. It slid against England's, trying to get him to reciprocate instead being a dead lay. But England huffed into America's mouth. If he wanted a response from England, it damn well be better than a bit of French kissing.

To show America what he really wanted, England rutted his hips up once. Rubbing his very hard erection against America's bare stomach. A pretty obvious hint.

He would have done it again, but England slumped back down to the mattress in disappointment. When he pressed their bodies together for that brief moment of contact, he didn't feel an erection through America's boxers. There was no bulge at all.

So he had to resign himself to lying there until America had enough foreplay to get hard. He sighed with boredom as America's mouth trailed kisses down until settling on England's neck.

"BABY YOU'RE A FIREWOOOOORK!"

America froze.

"COME AND SHOW'EM WHAAAAT YOU'RE WORTH!"

America hopped off England and off the bed. "Oh, crap!"

England sat up. "… the hell?"

America raced to his iPod. "I forgot I had it on shuffle," he said nervously, fiddling with the device. "Soooo, I guess it played some Katy Perry after Barry White."

"MAKE'EM GO OH OH OH! AS YOU—"

America quickly switched it off. "Hehe … um, sorry about that."

"It's off," England said hastily. "Hurry now. Come back to bed."

"Oh! But I really wanted to put the Barry White song back onnnn …?" America trailed off when he saw the stern scowl of England glaring back at him. "Whaaat?"

"You'll just have to get up every few minutes to switch the song back. I won't have it – get your arse back in the bed immediately."

"Psssh, England, you're no fun."

America made a pouting face, but he climbed back into bed anyway. And resumed his position on top of England. He started where he left off: mouthing slowly at England's neck.

Luckily for America, England couldn't see him roll his eyes.

"Go lower," England growled.

"Mmm," America cooed affirmatively.

But to England's disappointment, lower to America meant his collarbone. England was hoping foreplay would entail something along the lines of a blowjob or rimming – that was foreplay to him, at this point — but he forgot how painfully vanilla and sappy sex with America was.

America nipped lightly at England's collarbone. It drew no response from England, who stared at the ceiling, wondering how long he had until blue balls set in.

America lips released England's skin, but hovered just above. "England?" he said, glancing up with a grin.

England kept his eyes on the ceiling. "What?"

"I was just thinking … about tomorrow …" America placed another kiss on England's skin, then resumed speaking, barely above a whisper, "… after the meeting …"

"Hmm?" England said that a little excitedly. He had an idea of what it could be …

"Before you have to leave, we'll have a little time, right? Just a little? Maybe … we could like …"

America didn't see the way England's face changed, a smirk curling around his lips. He thought about America parking the Camry in a dark place behind the World Meeting building. A place no one could see because those windows weren't tinted. They could both climb into the backseat, and America could climb on top of England, and England would eagerly roll over and let him. They could have one last quickie right there in the backseat. The car would rock, England's fingers would dig into the leather seats, as he moaned loudly, probably too loudly, but it would just feel so good he wouldn't care—

"… grab some lunch together before your flight," said America, grinding England's dirty thoughts to a halt. "Like a lunch date, ya know? I know some good quick places nearby."

"Oh," replied England curtly.

America planted another kiss on England's skin. On that dip right above his collarbone. "Or worst comes to worst, we'll grab something real quick right at the airport." He paused to kiss him again. "I know they got a Sbarro in there. You like Sbarro?"

England didn't respond.

"It's real good Italian food," said America brightly. "Almost as good as the Olive Garden! May not be as fancy as there, but hey, an airport Sbarro can still count as a lunch date, right?"

"Hmm."

America sat up. "What's wrong? How come you're being so quiet?"

England looked away. "I'm just frustrated."

"But why?" A look of panic overcame him. "Am I doing something wrong?"

No, you're doing everything perfectly, straight out of a damn romantic novel, England inwardly griped. But that's the problem.

Of course, he couldn't tell him that. America would be offended. Probably go downstairs and pout and then England would never get laid.

"No, it's fine," lied England. "I suppose I'm just impatient."

America smiled back. "Well, you don't gotta be. Because look what I goooot~" He held up a bottle of lube. An unopened one he'd brought up from the Wal*mart bag. He didn't know England had already opened a different bottle.

"Umm …"

"Anyway." America popped the cap and let an ample amount of lube dribble onto his fingers. "If ya don't like Sbarro, they also got a Subways, and like, a Cinnabon? I think?"

England didn't even flinch when America slid a finger in. No twitch in his face, no tightening of muscles, nothing. One finger was not enough.

"Oh." America's hand froze. "You're already wet down here?"

"Yeah." He couldn't meet America's eyes. "I already did it myself. Whilst you were making me wait in the bed for you."

"… oh."

"You don't have to prepare me. You can just put it in. I'm ready."

America frowned. "But England. I don't wanna hurt you."

"It's fine."

"But –"

"I SAID IT'S FINE."

America sat back, pouting. His finger slid out. "Hey, don't yell at me. It's been nine months. If I don't prepare you right I really might hurt you."

England sighed. He didn't have the heart to remind America that he'd been keeping himself company (and plenty stretched) with butt plugs and dildos for nine months.

America's finger slipped back inside. "Just lemme do this. Just in case, okay?"

"… fine. But do make it quick."

America worked his finger slowly. Feeling how this wasn't exactly stretching England and there was more room. A quick glance up revealed how bored England's face looked, so he added a second finger.

Still no reaction from England.

"I had another idea," said America, fingering slowly, gently. "I was thinking maybe like … somehow, 'cause I haven't worked out all the details yet … but maybe I could convince my boss to let me go back with you tomorrow."

That got England's attention. He glanced down. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Like, I dunno, make some bull crap up about some urgent problem in your country and I totally gotta go deal with it. So I join you on your flight! Then, oh, oops! False alarm. I come back but at least I got to spend a little more time with you!"

"Heh. That does sound nice."

England could see it now. The two of them sharing a plane trip together. Or rather, one of those tiny airplane bathrooms together. He'd always wanted to join the Mile High Club before. Sounded like jolly good fun. There wasn't much room, but they'd make it work. England would be tightly pressed against the door that said Occupied because oh how it'd be occupied then, and America would lean close, taking him from behind, holding England's mouth closed because otherwise the other passengers would hear his moans of ecstasy—

"They got in-flight movies," said America, once again interrupting England's fantasy. "And they give you food. Well, that's just like dinner and a movie, am I right? Kinda like a real date, haha!"

Oh. So that's what America meant.

"Hmm," said England, unimpressed.

America's fingers still moved so slowly. He moved them in and out so tenderly it was nothing but a tease to England. He thought it was pointless. England certainly was nowhere near that gentle when he dildoed himself all these nine months.

"Even if I gotta turn right back around and hop on a flight back as soon as I get there, as least we will have had a couple more hours to hang out together, ya know?"

"… right."

England bucked his hips down on America's fingers. Trying to get it through to him that he was more than ready. The fact that England wasn't flinching or squirming as America penetrated him with his fingers should have been his first clue …

But America was a bit dense, so no, he didn't get it.

He had to be told. "Please, America," England begged. "Put it in already."

"You sure you're good?"

England thrust his hips down on America's fingers again. Hard. Just to prove his point. "Yes."

America gently withdrew them. "Okay then."

England watched eagerly as America's fingers wrapped around the top of the elastic waistband on his boxers. England didn't even notice his tongue peeking out, sliding along his lips as America's boxers were pushed down. America pulled them off, slid them down his legs, and threw them to join the rest of his clothes on the nearby chair.

It was a nice shot, but it went unnoticed to anyone except America. England's eyes were locked hungrily on America's now exposed cock. They drank in the sight, like a feast laid before him, after having starved for nine long months.

Oh how happy England was to see that it was now hard. Hard just for him. It'd just been so long. Toys and dildos were nice but they didn't compare to the real thing.

"Where'd that lube go …" mumbled America, looking around. "Aha! Here it is, hehe."

England watched with wide, green eyes as America lubed up. America seemed to really concentrate on it. Poking his tongue out as he rubbed the liquid. He paid close attention to make sure he was properly lubricated before going any further.

But England didn't want the extra precaution.

"Damn it …" he cursed. "Would you hurry up and just fucking do me already? !"

America accidentally dropped the lube bottle. Good thing he'd already capped it. "Whoa, jeez, England! You startled me yelling like that."

"You don't have to marinate yourself, Christ. You know I've taken it before with just spit – I'll be fine."

"Yeah, but why not be extra careful if we got the proper lube? Plus it's been nine months and —"

"YES, YES, I'M AWARE."

That was the problem. He'd waited nine months for this and America was dragging this out. Delaying England's much needed fix.

America's hand released his cock. He'd slathered on so much lube it was dripping off his cock and leaving wet spots on the blanket below. "Well, sorry, jeez. I just wanted to make sure you wouldn't be in any pain during this."

Honestly, England didn't mind a little pain. That was sometimes part of the package deal when he liked it rough. The thought of America fucking him so hard that it hurt actually excited him a bit. His cock twitched when he imagined it.

Of course, he could only imagine. As America had never once hurt him. He always did it like this. Slow and careful. Slow and boring, thought England.

"Welp," said America, looking sheepish. "Um. I guess I'm ready then." He looked down to England. "Are you?"

England stared back, deadpan.

"Oh. I guess so, haha!" laughed America nervously.

America took his place above England again. He climbed on top, once again lacing his fingers into England's. England squirmed in desperation. This was exactly where he wanted to be. Naked, with also naked and very erect America straddling over him, pinning him down, preparing to give him the good fucking he so very badly needed …

"You know …" started America, looking away but smiling.

Oh goddamnit, England cursed to himself.

"I really missed you, England. Like … a lot. Like every day."

England's hips bucked up. Once again grinding against America's stomach as a rather obvious hint. "Me too."

"Like … every time I ate a meal by myself, or played video games by myself, or try to play ping pong by myself, I couldn't help but think … dang. This would be better if England was here."

"Oh."

That's all England could manage to say. Because when America had started talking, he was thinking about all the times England missed America. Like when he touched himself in the shower. Or had a wank at his office desk. Or impaled himself with a dildo while calling America's name and staring at that one picture of America he had, the one from Disneyland where he wore the Mickey Mouse ears hat. A little more risqué than being lonely while playing video games.

America's head drooped. Before England realized it (he was still thinking about his lonesome masturbatory fantasies) America was burying his face in England's chest.

"God. I'm just so glad you're here."

America's breath felt hot and sticky pressed so close like that. England stiffened, unsure what to say.

America didn't move. "Even if it's just for tonight. That's better than nothing."

England felt guilty. Because in that moment, as America seemed to be pouring his heart out to him, all England was thinking about was if America was still hard during this tender moment.

America raised his head, smiling awkwardly. "Hopefully it won't be another nine months before we see each other again, am I right?"

"Right," England replied quickly.

America raised himself back onto his arms. Back to straddling over England. "Because that would totally suck. I'd miss you even more. I mean, England, I really lo-"

"Don't go soft on me." In more ways than one.

"Oh — okay."

England couldn't stand it anymore. The sexual frustration was unbearable. Especially with America positioned so teasingly above him, knowing it was just moments away yet it never seemed to come …

"Please don't make me beg again, America," said England, ironically in a very begging tone. "I am lying under you, completely and utterly desperate. Fuck me already."

"Oh. I guess it is about time, huh?"

IT WAS TIME AS SOON AS I STEPPED OFF THAT DAMN PLANE.

England kept the thought to himself, lest he risk pissing America off and delaying this even more.

A hand slipped in between England's thighs. Not where he wanted, not to his cock. It rubbed slowly, tenderly at the inside of England's thigh. Rubbing gentle circles into the smooth skin there.

"Hmm. You feel kinda tense, England."

England had to bite his tongue. Of course it was America's repeated denial of physical contact that had made him so on edge. But he couldn't tell America that.

America kept rubbing. So gently … so annoyingly gently … "Dude, relax …"

"I'M RELAXED!" snapped England. "Fucking put it in before I flip us over and fuck you instead!"

Oh, thought England. Well, that would just be splendid.

It'd been even longer than nine months since they did it that way. England tried to remember how long … fourteen, fifteen months? Longer than a year. Way too fucking long. England imagined carrying out his threat. Shoving America off him and climbing on top. He wouldn't be gentle like America was, oh no. A quick squirt of lube, maybe a quick poke in the arse with two fingers just to make sure the lube was in there, and it was on. He'd pound America into that mattress. Hips slamming like piston firing, those nasty sex sounds America hated filling the room, almost but not quite drowned out by the loud wails of America crying out beneath him—

"Puttin' it in now."

When England's train of thought derailed this time, it was in a good way. He couldn't believe the words. It was finally happening. America was finally going to fuck him.

England grabbed an ass cheek with each hand. And spread himself wide. "Do it," he said very quickly.

America slid himself in so slowly. Oh so slowly. It was an agonizing tease to England. He raised his head to watch impatiently as each inch entered him. He huffed. He didn't want to be treated so fragilely. When about two inches were left, England slammed his hips down and forced the rest in quickly. America was balls deep inside him.

They both gasped at the same time.

England curled his nails into the skin of America's back. "Fuck me," he demanded.

Why did England expect anything different than what was to come? He knew how it'd be. It'd be how it always was. England remembered as soon as America began thrusting. That same slow, gentle rhythm he always did.

It was always like that. England was fairly certain America didn't know how to have sex any other way. It was always that sappy, romantic love-making. Not just sex. Love-making. Slow and deliberate thrusts. Never venturing faster, never doing anything kinky, never the way England preferred: rough.

"Harder," said England. "Fuck me harder."

America sped up just slightly. England could barely tell the difference from the rhythm he was being rocked.

"Harder!" he demanded again. "Come on, I'm not fragile! Faster!"

To prove his point, England started bucking back against America. Meeting his thrusts at a faster pace. A much faster pace.

"Like that, come on," England pleaded.

America met his gaze with a concerned look. "I don't wanna hurt you."

England kept slamming his hips to meet America's. "You won't."

"But …"

"Don't hold back. Use your strength. Hell, use your super-strength. I can take it."

America's thrusts came to a complete stop. "What? No! I'll definitely hurt you!"

England then looked pretty desperate just rutting up for friction. "No, you won't. I'd let you know if it hurt me." More than I liked …

America was frowning down at him. "Is … is that really how you want it, England?"

"Yes." Oh God, yes …

"Um. Okay. I'll try it for you …"

America's thrusts resumed. But this time the slow, grating pace only lasted seconds before building up to a faster one. Much faster. It was hard and rough, just how England liked it. America's balls slapped heavily against England's ass as he pounded. Those sounds, nasty, wet, squelching noises that America hated, became audible. The bed creaked under them, not used to so much force.

"Oh, fuck yessss …" cried England.

He squeezed his eyes shut. His hands were balling tightly into the blanket below. This was perfect. Just the way he wanted it. The way it should be. Wild, rough sex to make up for months of involuntary celibacy. All the distractions and delays were worth it. Just to have this incredible feeling of America above him, pounding away, using all his strength, to slam their hips together and bring England closer and closer to his orgasm with each thrust.

"Yes, yes," chanted England. "Fuck yes …"

England was practically sobbing.

Something else was coming out his mouth – a mix of America's name and more yes's with maybe a couple God's in there – when he felt it. America grow still. Oddly, abruptly still. Then he jerked, and England's eyes sprang open.

"No, no, no …" pleaded England. "Please tell me you didn't …"

All of America's muscles were holding stiff, then they fell slack. But only for a moment, because America quickly sat up in a panic.

"Aw, crap!" he exclaimed. "England, I'm so sorry! I-I didn't mean to!"

America had slid out when he sat up like that. His cock flopped out, followed by a dripping trail of fresh white cum.

England watched it trickle down his thighs. "We just fucking started."

"I know! It's just … it's been so long, ya know? I'm really sorry! I couldn't help it!"

England groaned in frustration, flopping his head back on the pillow. He held back all the things he was saying in his mind, GOD FUCKING DAMNIT WE FINALLY START AND HE ACTUALLY FUCKING DOES IT THE WAY I LIKE AND HE CUMS IN ONE DAMN MINUTE BLOODY JESUS FUCKING SODDING CHRIST.

Instead he said, "How long until you can get hard again?"

America hesitated. "Um … I dunno, it depends. Like … twenty or thirty minutes?"

England wanted to cry. Or punch something. Or punch something while crying. He could try America's couch again. He seemed to be developing a weird relationship with that piece of furniture …

He'd waited so long. Nine months, and now so long this evening with so many unexpected delays. Then he finally, finally gets a taste, and it's over with as soon as it begins. Leaving him even more desperate than before. And now he was going to have to wait twenty or thirty more minutes? In this state? With an aching erection and nearly blue balls? He couldn't stand it … this was a new level of frustration …

America could see that frustration on England's face. "Don't be upset, England. I'll finish you off. W-with my hand."

So this was what it came to. A handjob. He could give those to himself any day of the week in his own home. (And he did!) And now that's how his one night with America after nine months would end. A damn handjob.

He sighed and grudgingly accepted. It was better than nothing.

"Very well. Get on with it."

England closed his eyes and lay back on the pillow. It may not be ideal, but at least he'd finally cum, so he resigned himself to try to enjoy it.

But his eyes sprang open when he felt fingers not on his cock, but reentering his asshole. Two pushed their way inside.

"Ahh …!" England gasped, not expecting that.

"Heh … it's all sticky in here now, haha," said America, smiling nervously up at him.

The fingers slid in all the way to the knuckle. "I … I didn't think you meant that way."

"Huh? Oh, what did you think I meant?" His fingers started moving.

"I thought you were going to jerk me off."

"Oh." America's hand froze. "Is that what you wanted?"

"Eh … no, it's fine. Keep going." Both are bollocks compared to your cock.

"Oh, okay then."

America's fingers picked up where they left off. Pushing in and out of England's entrance. A pace faster than he normally might, perhaps even comparable to the (very brief) one England had managed to force him into moments ago with his dick. But it didn't matter. It was just two fingers. That would never be enough to satisfy him after having a thick, hard cock in him moments ago. They just weren't comparable. America's cock was thicker and wider. England was stretched farther than two fingers. They didn't fill him.

America pouted. "Well, jeez. You look so bored."

"Do I?" England hadn't realized how obvious he'd made it. "Sorry. This is dreadfully boring though."

America's fingers jerked inside him in shock. "WHA …! Hey! That's not very nice. I'm really trying."

"Perhaps then that is your first clue to try a little harder, hmm?"

"Well, I don't really know what to do! You're making me anxious being all like that!"

England's eyes lazily watched the ceiling. "Funny how you're so creative everywhere else — inventing all kinds of crazy rubbish and coming up with all kinds of moronic ideas and so on. And yet, in the bedroom, you are so painfully dull."

"I'm not dull!" America replied defensively. "I'm plenty creative! You take it back!"

"Make me cum without yawning first and I'll think about it."

"What! You're so mean! Jeez!"

"Christ. Has it been twenty minutes yet? Looks like I'm going to have to wait for – ohh."

England's sentence was interrupted by a hard shudder. He suddenly felt a lot more pressure inside him. As he'd complained, America had slipped a third finger in. He'd never done that before.

"You like that, hmm?" asked America, still very defensive. "Is that creative? !"

He was thrusting those fingers pretty hard too. Harder than England would expect plain old vanilla, sappy America to. Already they were stretching him and brushing against his prostate.

England's eyes snapped shut. "God, yes."

"Well, fine! I'll just keep doing it so there!"

Oh, what a brilliant idea, England thought to himself. Make America angry so that he's rougher. Why didn't I try this trick before?

"Keep going," England begged. "Just like that. I'm almost there."

"Yeah, I bet you are!"

England's back arched off the mattress. "Shit … oh God … don't stop …"

"I'm not!"

England moaned loudly. "Ohhhh … God, whatever you do, don't stop …"

America's fingers scraped hard against England's prostate. England clenched hard around the fingers."I said I wasn't gonna!"

"Ohh, yesss …" hissed England. "I'm almost there, yessss …"

"Well, good! I guess I'm not so dull after all, huh? !"

England would tell America anything he wanted to hear at that point. He couldn't risk America pulling out his fingers and being once again left unsatisfied.

"Nnngh …" moaned England. "Yeah, I take it back, you're good, you're fucking good at this, I — OH FUCK."

England's head snapped up to look at America. "Something wrong?" asked America.

"Wha … what the hell are you doing? !"

England was trembling. His fingers were twisted into the sheets for something to hold onto. This was too much. Too much pressure.

"I added a fourth finger," said America, oblivious.

"It's too much — t-take it out. Quickly."

"But I thought you liked it rough?"

England still couldn't stop shaking. His body quivered beneath America's. "I do — but not like this. It's too much. I-I'm afraid you might actually tear something. I … I … I …"

He trailed off. America had started moving his hand again. This time all four fingers pushed their way inside him. Stopping only when they reached America's knuckle. England trembled as he felt himself being stretched, stretched farther than perhaps he ever had, farther than any cock or toy had spread him before. At first he thought it was too much, but as he spoke he realized — just how good it felt.

"I … I … I take it back."

"Hmm?"

"Keep going," England whimpered. "Changed my mind. It's … it's amazing."

England's back popped off the bed again, arching with so much pressure and pleasure mounting at once. He's never felt like this before. He'd never been pushed so close to his limit. And he certainly never thought it'd be America of all people to do it to him.

"Mmm …. nnnghhh …" England moaned.

Then England felt another sensation he never had before. The feeling of a fifth digit worming its way inside him.

"What …" he started, confused and dazed, "Hey … what are you doing? !"

He got his answer when he felt the entire girth of America's hand fill him. When England looked down he saw America's wrist pressed against his entrance. The rest was inside him.

"Oh God!" England cried.

"Oh crap!" America suddenly panicked. "What the heck am I doing? ! I'm so sorry, England! You just pissed me off for a minute there and I wanted to show you I wasn't dull and I guess I just snapped because you were just being so mean even though I just wanted to make love to you and I got carried away but I didn't mean it I swear I never want to hurt you I love you, Engla—"

"No."

".. nd. Huh?"

"No. That was a good yelp." England smirked down at him. "I fucking love it."

America looked horrified. "…. HUH? !"

"Don't pull your hand out. I love it. Keep going."

"Uh …"

"Fist me." England squirmed anxiously. "Come on now. Fist me hard."

It was a new shade of red flushing America's face. He'd never blushed so hard before in his life. He sat there frozen in shock for a few moments, before England eagerly squirmed below him again, snapping him out of it. "I-if that's what you want …" Tentatively, slowly, America balled his hand into a fist inside of England.

England couldn't audibly respond. He tried — his mouth opened to make noise but nothing would come out. His inside shifted to accommodate the very large intrusion. Stretching him far beyond comfort.

But he loved it.

"Fuck …" he swore. He writhed hard under America.

America still couldn't believe he was wrist-deep inside of England. "Uh … you okay?"

"God yes. Move your hand."

America swallowed hard before obeying. He couldn't believe he was doing this. This wasn't how he was taught to make love! Not with his fist! But if this was how England liked it …

"Unfff …" England grunted when he felt it, his eyes rolling back in his head.

America moved his hand again. There wasn't too much room to move — his hand took up most of it. But he pulled back and pushed his way in again. And again. Striking, no, punching England right in the prostate.

"Ahhh … ! Oh, God …" England moaned.

One more punch to that spot, and that was it. England came hard. He finally came. A huge load, taking several spurts to finish, and before he did, his vision was getting hazy.

"Oh crap!" panicked America. He quickly pulled his hand out. "You don't look so good! Are you okay? !"

"Hehhh …" England was still cumming. The last of it still shot out of him as America continued to panic.

"I'm so sorry, England! I knew it was too much! You should have listened to me—"

"No, no …" panted England, the last drops of his orgasm trickling out. "I loved it."

And with that, England blacked out.

X

The alarm buzzed loudly. England groaned, his head and his ass rather sore, as he swatted at the thing. Eventually, after a few blind misses, he hit the off switch.

"Ugh … it is too fucking early …"

He did not want to go to that World Meeting. Not when he could stay all day in bed with America instead. England rolled over, smiling warmly at the thought of waking up beside him.

But to his disappointment, England was alone in the bed. He sat up. "Huh? America? Where'd you go?"

"Oh." America froze, on the other side of the room. "I'm over here."

He was fully dressed, and reaching for his car keys.

England frowned. "You're leaving? The meeting's not for an hour …"

"Oh! Actually, I gotta confess something to you." America shrugged sheepishly. "Even though I knoooow you said not to, last night, after you … uh … passed out …"

"In a good way," England finished for him.

"Y-yeah. In a good way. Well, I went to check on Whaley and we decided. We're gonna go buy those lobsters from Wal*mart and SAVE THEIR LIVES!"

England deadpanned.

"Pretty cool, right?"

"Heh," chuckled England. "You are such a … wait a minute. If you do that, you'll be late for the meeting."

"OH? !" America's voice was very condescending. "You mean the meeting might have to be postponed if the host country doesn't show? ! And then you'll miss your flight? ! And have to stay longer? ! Ohhh, what a tragedy! SAY IT ISN'T SOOOO!"

England smirked at him. "Very subtle sarcasm you have there."

"NOOOOO YOU DON'T SAY? !

"… okay, you can stop now."

"Hahaha!" he laughed. "Well anyway. I figured, Whaley gets lonely and all, and he gets scared sometimes, especially if he watches Whale Wars. So I figured, hey, he could use some company, am I right? The lobsters will feel right at home with him. They can live together and live happily ever after until they die naturally and … hehe, here's the best part … each time one of them does die, of natural causes of course, I'll call you. We'll make a date of it, okay? You can come over for lobster dinner. Lobster dinner is the best. We'll tell our bosses it's not optional, whatever's going on it's gotta be dropped so you can visit. If they don't like it they can shove it, haha. Whaddaya say? You like my lobster saving/ lobster dinner date idea?"

England stared back at him. "That is simultaneously the most moronic, morbid, yet sweet thing I have ever heard."

"You said sweet! SCORE! It's a date then." America glanced to the clock. "Oh, crap, gotta go! Whaley's waiting!"

And with that, he was out the door.

England sighed, sinking into the pillow. Of course that's how their farewell would be. Something stupid and random. That's how things went with America.

But he was pleasantly surprised when America ran back into the room. He raced to the side of the bed to lean over. And kiss England deeply on the mouth.

It was intense, but very brief. America pulled away, and said, "Love ya!" before hurrying to the door again. "I'm taking you to the Olive Garden later! I won't accept any objections!"

America was down the hall by then, but England called after him. "Okay, but only if we have a quickie in the backseat of your car in the parking lot afterwards!"

"Okay! But only if we also go have a picnic in the park together too!" America yelled back.

"Okay, but only if you also blow me. Including deep-throat!"

Their voices got louder with each suggestion.

"Okay! But only if you also go Go-Kart racing with me too!"

"Okay. But only if you also let me top you. Hard. Anywhere but the bed!"

"Okay! But only if you also go roller skating with me too!"

"Okay. But only if you also let me record that homemade sex tape we talked about so I can use it to keep me company when I get home."

Silence.

England worried America was out of earshot by then. Or maybe even already out the door. Or maybe even scared off by England's idea.

But then …

"Okay! Ya got me!" America yelled back through the house. "It's a date! BYE BYE!"

And then, England heard the sound of a door closing, and America was off.

England sighed contently. He snuggled back into America's pillow, preparing to go back to sleep.

Fuck David Cameron, he thought. I'm staying the whole damn week. It sounds absolutely splendid.

(The end!)


End file.
